


hardened shell; golden treasure

by WingsOfTime



Series: ikael [30]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Gen, Patch 5.1: Vows of Virtue; Deeds of Cruelty Spoilers, Some Survivor's Guilt, Thancred-centric, an important conversation in the dark, thancred... like egg, trauma reactions mention, vomit mention irt that but just briefly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 02:49:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,485
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21866248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WingsOfTime/pseuds/WingsOfTime
Summary: Thancred, as who he is, is not one to be... open about how he feels. Not truly.That doesn't mean it always works out for him. It doesn't mean that some days, he fears what it could mean for him and the people who love him.
Relationships: Thancred Waters & Warrior of Light, Y'shtola Rhul & Thancred Waters
Series: ikael [30]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/909954
Comments: 13
Kudos: 33





	hardened shell; golden treasure

**Author's Note:**

> as stated in tags, contains spoilers for 5.1. also, this one takes a bit to build up, but i rather like where it goes.

Thancred's gaze is loose when Ikael finishes speaking. It drifts for a moment, then rests on a small daisy on his lapel before flicking back up to meet his eyes.

“Next to Warburton, you say?” Thancred asks. He does not see any need to add an affect to his voice, sardonic or not, so he lets it be free.

Ikael nods silently, his green eyes bright with something that is not quite worry. Thancred sighs.

“Thank you for telling me, Ikael,” he says. He is sincere. He has found his closure, it is true, but it lifts a burden he had not known was weighing down his heart to learn that others have as well.

Ikael’s brow dips in a small furrow, and this is an emotion Thancred can identify from a malm away. “I’m sorry you weren’t there,” he says softly.

“Can’t be helped.” Thancred lifts the very corner of his mouth in the barest of smiles. “At least not yet, as we are now all too well aware.”

“Still. I-it… didn’t feel right, without you.” Ikael shifts on his stool. His gaze drags down past Thancred's shoulder, sad and a little bit guilty. “I-I never really knew her, you know. It didn’t feel right, next to F’lhaminn. Should have been you.”

“It should have.” Thancred closes his eyes. He tries to picture Minfilia as he last saw her—floating in a white dress, impassioned but resigned, wearing a very similar expression to Ikael’s right now. He opens his eyes.

“But it was not, for better or for worse. When we return, however… it will be the first place I shall visit. When I have finished sorting out whatever messes Riol has laid aside for me to deal with, that is.”

Ikael lays his hand down on the table, palm up. There for Thancred to take if he so wishes, he knows. Ikael does not like holding people’s hands, he knows also.

“It is good for your heart that you love her so much,” Ikael says quietly. “I know that sometimes it may not feel like it. But it is good.”

Thancred swallows and looks away. His eyes are warm, and he blinks a few times to let them cool. He will not respond to the words now, not while they are in public, but he dips his head to let Ikael know they are acknowledged. A small part of him yearns for a gentle hand holding his face, cupping his jaw, for lips pressed brief to his forehead, but he daren’t want for it here. They have pity little time, now, for Thancred and sweet Ikael.

They stay until Y'shtola and Ryne approach them, the latter clutching to her chest a large tome with a Rak’tikan binding. Y'shtola is carrying an armful of loose parchment, and her eyes are darkened by kohl. Thancred wonders how she put it on. He pushes back his stool and stands, then steps up to her.

“Hello, Y'shtola. Did Runar help you with your eyes?” he asks without preamble.

Said eyes narrow. “Why did I even call you here?” Y’shtola grouses. Her ears flex back, but she colours slightly.

Ryne giggles, ducking her head behind her tome. Thancred says, “I’m sure those giant paws of his can be _oh_ -so-dextrous. And firm, yet gentle.”

“Twelve preserve me.” Y'shtola stalks past him, dumping her armful of maps on the table in front of a wide-eyed Ikael. “Ikael. I trust that these are suited to our needs? Ru—I have been… assured that they match the temple, but only we here have been.”

Ikael tugs at the maps with hesitant fingers, glancing them over. Thancred joins him, frowning over his shoulder.

“They seem to,” he says. “Why do you want to venture back into that accursed place, again? Planning to hop down another hole?”

“There may be information there than can prove useful to our endeavors.” Y'shtola crosses her arms, then sighs. Her voice drops. “Truly, at this point, any lead is worth pursuing. If our chance at returning home lies back in those ruins, then back into the ruins we shall go.”

“I suppose the four of us could form an efficient enough group,” Thancred grudgingly acquiesces. She is right, although he would rather not risk the entire trip being a waste of their time, considering how limited a resource time is. “Or rather, we could if you held your staff a bit straighter. I take it thaumaturgy hasn’t _entirely_ tempted you with its dark machinations.”

Y'shtola smirks, drumming her fingers on her arm. “I may deign to send a healing spell your way if you find you _truly_ cannot take a hit, Thancred. Are we ready, then?”

“I would stay here for a bell or two more, Shtola,” Ikael defers. The softness of his voice cuts the air, sinking into it and diffusing the thin mist of tension that has crept in around them. Thancred can feel his shoulders loosen by a fraction, and he sees Y'shtola’s spine bleed some of its stiffness. “I… have some tarts I put in the oven. Vanilla custard, yeah? For… for your idea. A-and we can have tea, I think. There is no rush.”

Y'shtola’s face visibly relaxes. “Of course, Ikael,” she murmurs. “No—you are right, of course. There isn’t any rush, and we could all do with a small break. Ryne, would you like to continue looking at that tome with me?”

Ryne nods, eyes bright. Thancred smiles, faint but warm, and pats her on the head.

“You be good now,” he says softly. Ryne smiles back at him. She gives him a quick squeeze, endearingly tight—and gods, she is so much, this shard of Minfilia’s, and he is reminded of it every day—and leans over to peck Ikael on the cheek before hefting her book in her arms and heading after Y'shtola.

“Why does Ikael say your name wrong?” Thancred hears her ask as they drift away.

Y'shtola laughs lightly. “Because I told him he could, little one. I will explain it to you inside.”

 _Shtola_ , Ikael calls her, with the soft tick on the ‘h’ that Thancred can never hope to quite replicate. He still does not know the story behind that. One day it had simply… happened, without him there to learn of it.

“Can I say your name wrong?”

“In time, perhaps.” Y’shtola is smiling.

“Can Thancred?”

She pauses, and that is all the notice Thancred gets before she turns her head and looks at him, eye to unseeing eye.

“If he so wishes,” she says with a half-lidded gaze.

She turns back and keeps walking, with Ryne hot on her heels. Thancred stares at nothing.

“Do you want a sweet tart?” Ikael asks after a few minutes. It is his way of asking if Thancred needs more. Of support, of affection, of love. His hand is still outstretched on the table, there to take if Thancred wants to. He looks at it, then shakes his head.

“I can wait for Y'shtola’s batch,” he replies. “Thank you, Ikael.”

Ikael does not seem perturbed. He nods, then withdraws his hand to instead smooth over the edges of the curling parchment in front of him.

“I am not very good at reading maps,” he comments, changing the subject. “I was taught to navigate by the stars and the nearest oasis. You keep these, yeah? Make better use of them than I could.”

“East is where the sun rises,” Thancred jokes as he takes them.

“Is it?” Ikael asks wryly.

~*~

Thancred has gone to get tea. He is carrying back two cups of it, sweet-smelling and with steam curling thin and thick in the air. He stops before he reaches Ikael. Someone is sitting with him. In Thancred's spot.

“And the one who was with you?” Their tone is inappropriately curious. “Is that your man?”

Ikael tilts his head. “Thancred's is not anyone’s, I don’t think,” he says. “I would say he is our Thancred, though.”

Thancred quietly watches them speak. He waits.

“He isn’t exactly open with you, though, is he?” The nosy stranger presses on. “Do you not get upset when he does not reciprocate your affections? I could not be with someone that… aloof.”

“No, it is not like that. He’s…” Ikael’s eyes drop, for a second with Thancred's stomach, but then he smiles, and it is fond. “He’s quiet about it, but he actually cares very much. He is very sweet, you know, and not just when we are alone. You just need to… watch enough to know when he shows it.”

Thancred swallows. He decides to reveal himself, stepping forwards and taking no small delight in the way the stranger startles when he speaks up. “Oh, please. You’ve softened me like moist, soggy bread.”

He sets the cups on the table. Ikael’s nose wrinkles.

“Ew,” he says.

“I just—ah.” The nosy stranger’s eyes are wide. Thancred settles them with a flat, unimpressed look.

“Leave,” he tells them.

They nod, scrambling out of his seat. They have disappeared by the time he quirks an eyebrow at their hasty retreat.

“I see you are enjoying yourself,” Thancred says to Ikael, sitting down. “You could have warned me; I damn near had a heart attack.”

_Do I?_

Ikael drags one cup across the table with two fingers. He ducks his head, and then slurps at it slowly, gazing at Thancred.

“Sína,” is all he says after at least a dozen seconds have ticked by.

_You know I love you._

The knot in Thancred's chest loosens. “Anyways,” he continues, resuming what was not unsaid, “I need you at my flank today. Ryne can stay at mid-range—she has been practising some magicks with Y'shtola and Urianger and is eager to try them out.”

Ikael nods. “We will try our best not to get boob-trapped,” he says.

Thancred doesn’t bother to correct him. Some things are best left untouched. “That means no running off, do you hear? Not in this place.”

Ikael reaches up to tap his nose, catches Thancred's expression, and instead nods again. He slurps at his tea once more.

They go over precautions and formations, prod each other about the relevance of their injuries, and turn eventually to gossiping about Y'shtola’s new umbral tendencies, Urianger's lack of tights, and the oddness of Alphinaud’s carbuncle. It is not the most useful pre-battle discussion, but it is average enough talk for tea-and-tart time.

“Shtola said she wanted to speak with you about something later,” Ikael informs him after an abrupt rant about how he doesn’t appreciate his soul being referred to as ‘dense.’ “After we come back. She said to remind her in case she forgets, but I know I will forget, and so I am telling you. Now you can remind her.”

“Truly, your mind is unparalleled,” Thancred says. “Alright, I’ll keep it in mind. I won’t be able to shake the feeling that she wants to lecture me about something for bells now. Thank you.”

Ikael smiles at him, eyes lifting. “You are very welcome, darling!” he replies happily.

~*~

Of course they had found nothing.

It had been too much to hope for, Thancred thinks bitterly as he makes his way to Y'shtola’s cave. Too much, and a waste of time, and now Ryne has sprained her ankle and he can only hope it heals in time for their next encounter with Eden. Annoyance weighs down his footsteps, and although his natural tread is light, he is sure Y'shtola can hear him coming even before he knocks on the door.

“Enter.” Her voice is faint.

He does, closing it behind him. Y'shtola is seated at her desk, surrounded by a few candles—an inhale tells Thancred they are scented—and textured etchings she had taken from the temple. It is true that they had not found anything promising, but always a scholar, Y'shtola had still wanted to record a few things that had caught her arcane eye.

“Ikael said you wanted to speak with me,” Thancred says plainly, then waits. He is in no mood to beat around the bush.

Y'shtola inclines her head. She gestures to a free stool, and Thancred sits on it, kicking up a foot and crossing his arms. Whether Y’shtola can sense it or not, she does not react to his apparent attitude, only looks at him placidly.

“I wanted to inquire as to why Ikael has been spending the majority of his time with you,” she says.

Thancred's head raises at that. Before he can so much as struggle for the most charitable interpretation of those words, Y'shtola continues, “Because you do not seem to want him there.”

“I would caution you to keep an eye on your own affairs first and foremost, Y'shtola,” Thancred says lowly. “No matter what it may ‘seem’ like to you, our troubles are not always something that warrants your intervention.”

“You think too little of me.” Y'shtola’s voice is sharp. “I am not a stranger to you, nor are you to me. I am not speaking of how you barely smile at him when we are out with anyone but our own, or how distantly you carry yourself around him. Such a thing befits you, and he knows it well. But you have been… different with him ever since hearing of Minfilia’s burial.”

She looks away, which casts her face in shadow. Thancred stays silent. When Y'shtola speaks again, her voice is quieter.

“I… am inquiring as to your wellbeing as a friend, Thancred,” she says mutedly. “Ikael’s as well. I would not see you troubled, not when things are now so peaceful. There is cause for joy, is there not, for the two of you? But something sombre now dogs your footsteps. I… would see it gone.”

Thancred drops his gaze. Y'shtola joins him in his silence, staring off into nothing. He cannot make out her expression.

He sighs quietly. Y'shtola’s ears perk up at the sound, and swivel when he drags his stool over closer to her.

“Alright,” he says softly, when they are but a few fulms apart. “Alright.”

“I know I am not Ikael,” Y'shtola begins, but he waves her off.

“Ikael… needs to stay here with us,” Thancred says at first. “It is not just… He has nowhere to go, Shtola. No one to go to. There is me, and there is you, and there are the rest of us, and that is it. And I would see him have a home with me, for as long as he wishes it.”

“Do you wish it?” Y'shtola’s pale eyes catch the candlelight.

Thancred simply nods. “He is dear to me.” A breath, and his next words come hesitantly. “As was Minfilia.”

Thancred does not tell her that Ikael has nightmares sometimes, on rare nights, where he screams and cries, that once he had vomited on the bed like it was tortured Light, and had shaken and shaken until Thancred had held him and calmed him down. It is personal, and not relevant, and even if it means that Y'shtola will understand more fully why Thancred cannot leave him to suffer alone, it is not knowledge that should depart from the two of them. But Minfilia, he can speak of.

“What are you scared of?” Y'shtola’s voice is ghostly. Just like that, it is as if a lock has been picked and fallen to the ground.

“That it is not enough.” Thancred's own stays steady, because he forces it to be so. “That all I am doing—it is not enough, and it will never be enough. He will never heal. Ryne will never heal. You know all that I have done to them. How will I ever give them enough? With how I am…”

He presses the palms of his hands to his eye sockets, pushes the flesh against his cheekbones and brow. “I never gave anything to Minfilia until it was too late. Not my love, not my kindness, not truly. Were it not for pure fate, I would have done the same for Ryne. And Minfilia—she is gone now, and I never—she never—”

“She knew, Thancred.” Y'shtola cuts him off. “By the gods, you great fool, listen to yourself! She knew. Ryne knows. Ikael knows. It is alright.”

Thancred stares at her, face crooked, eyes damp. “And what if it is not enough?” he rasps. “Ikael—you do not understand—he imprints like a—like a bloody chocobo! His heart is too bright for me. I cannot ever hope to match it.”

“Ikael _adores_ you.” Y'shtola shakes her head. Her expression is stark with incredulity, but kind. “Thancred, Ikael would do anything you ever asked of him, even if it were to banish himself to another Shard for an eternity without you. But he does not hold you to some unattainable standard. He knows your limitations. You are just a man, and of that he is well aware.”

“I do not love enough.” Thancred's voice is strange to him, raw and dry as it is.

“You love the most out of any of us.” Y'shtola’s hand presses to his chest. “This proves it more than anything. Yes, even more than Ikael; do not laugh at me. Ikael’s love is conditional, Thancred. Yours is blind.”

That sucks the air from Thancred's chest. Words rise up in his throat to argue, to defend his friend, but Y'shtola is already shaking her head.

“It is not his fault,” she says, as gently as befits her. “He has learned through harsh circumstance that to protect a heart such as his, he has to guard it like it is a vault, and only allow access to those that have, in his eyes, earned it. You, on the other hand,” She taps his chest, “simply fool yourself into believing you can turn yours to stone. Blind indeed.”

He cannot see in the dark, but she sounds as if she is smiling. Still, Thancred utters a scoff that makes the candlelight flicker, and echoes off the walls of the cave.

He licks his lips. “Your effulgent praise is truly a balm to my injured soul, my lady.”

She leans forward. The curve of her smile comes into view. “You are a fool sometimes,” she tells him, “But make no mistake; you are a wise one.”

Her wording makes Thancred tip back his head and laugh, although it is a choked, dry sound. Y'shtola only tilts her head, not understanding his humour. When Thancred calms, he simply stares at her loosely, his expression open.

“I do love you,” he says quietly. “I know I do not say it as often as I should. But I do. I love all of you.”

“And Ikael knows that, does he not?” Y'shtola asks. He drops his head in a nod. “Very well. And does Ryne?”

Another nod. Y'shtola says, “Then I do not see what the problem is. Get out of my room.”

That prompts a genuine puff of laughter from Thancred's lips. He rises from his seat. He pauses in front of Y'shtola, contemplating, before he comes to a decision and wraps her in a gentle but firm embrace.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “My dearest Shtola.”

“Fool,” Y'shtola replies affectionately. A slight turn of her head, and Thancred feels painted lips press to his cheek. They leave his skin with the softest sound.

“Go on, then,” Y'shtola says when they part. “I have runes to feel. Begone with you.”

Three dismissals in one. Thancred presses a hand over his heart and spreads it out to her, then turns and walks out of the cave. He closes the door behind him carefully.

Ikael is with Ryne, weaving her a story about a one-legged princess in what he seems to think is an adequate attempt at comfort. He sniffs the air when Thancred is about to approach. His ears perk up and wiggle.

“I am glad you are unharmed,” Thancred tells him without preamble, keeping his voice low so as to not make the entire area privy to their business. “And I love you. I just wanted to say that.”

Ikael’s mouth falls open a bit, his cheeks staining rolanberry red. Ryne tilts her head curiously.

“Did something happen?” she asks. Which, alright, is Ikael’s usual response to Thancred's rare moments of sentimentality. By the Twelve. He isn’t that bad, is he?

“No,” Thancred replies. “I just wanted to say it. Alright, where did he leave off? The princess was attempting to tame the tail-less dragon, correct? What was her name, again?”

Ryne clears her throat. “Rinette,” she says delicately. Thancred gets the feeling the tact is more for Ikael than herself.

Menphina preserve him. “Alright, Rinette,” he allows. “Now, Rinette’s attempts on the first day were unsuccessful, but on the second she had an idea. So just as before, she snuck out after dark…”

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you liked this one! Please tell me what you think if you can :">


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